Enchanted - A Star Wars Fairytale
by Iverna
Summary: A long time ago, there lived a princess, held captive in a tower. She was rescued by a long-lost brother, a roguish stranger, and really long hair. And there was a wedding. But that wasn't the end. Because contrary to popular belief, life goes on after a wedding. This is the story of their Ever After. (Mashup of various fairytales, recast with Star Wars characters.)
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_There is a story..._

_You might know how it goes. There's a beautiful young princess in terrible danger; a wise old man who knows what to do about it; a young man as eager as he is inexperienced, who must rescue the princess and save the world. There's an evil dark lord, and a morally ambiguous, but nevertheless charming, stranger. There are sword fights and dramatic escapes and important moral lessons. There is a happy ending._

_There are a thousand such stories._

_ There's a beautiful young girl whose father dies, and those who take over his role do a terrible job with parenting. There's a young man whose name and character don't matter; he'll be judged on his ability to look good in a royal uniform and the size of his sword. He gallops in on a white horse; the sunlight reflects off his gleaming white teeth as he smiles, and his gleaming silver sword as he fights; and he sweeps the young girl off her feet and into the sunset._

_It plays out in a thousand different ways, in a thousand different worlds._

_On the subject of ever after, these stories are always vague. They are silent about the nightmares of children who grow up with a dragon's head over the fireplace, the guilt over killing your own stepmother (no matter how vain she was), the abandonment issues, the marital problems arising from rushing into things without getting to know each other first._

_And sometimes, the young man insists on having a name. Sometimes, the princess refuses to sit by and wait to be rescued. Sometimes, the happily ever after is not all that happy, but that's okay, because it turns out that contrary to popular belief, life does in fact go on after the wedding._

_This is such a story._

* * *

It was a stormy night, the kind of night that seems tailor made for destiny and story beginnings. Thunder and lightning took impatient turns and spent the rest of the time telling the other to hurry up. Behind the clouds racing across the sky, a full moon watched the show, shining silver light onto the wind-whipped trees.

A dark figure strode through the howling wind, face obscured by its hood. It wore a black cloak, one of the good ones. This cloak did not get tangled around legs or caught on bushes. It was a cloak made for billowing ominously, which was what it was currently doing. The figure and its cloak were so dark that they seemed to lighten the shadows as they passed.

At length, the man—for it was definitely a man, judging by the broadness of the shoulders and that stride which seemed to claim territory every time one of the booted feet hit the ground—came to a stop under the eaves of the forest. The road ended here.

Before him stood a house, a small cottage with a thatched roof. It had the slightly careless look of a house whose occupants had better things to do than wash the windows every day, the kind of house where children's fun was more important than clean floors.

The man stood motionless for a while, watching the storm rage around the house. He seemed to be listening for something. At length, he spoke a single word, his deep voice betraying a smile.

"Soon."

He turned and left, his cloak sweeping up the shadows as he strode back the way he'd come.

In the house behind him, one of the windows lit up.


	2. A Long Time Ago

**Part I: A Long Time Ago**

The storm had gotten worse as the night progressed, howling in the chimney and rattling at the door. Mara lay in bed, listening to it rage. She rather liked storms, as long as she was inside for them; few things were more pleasant than lying in a warm bed while it stormed and rained outside.

But she didn't like this one. Try as she might, she couldn't seem to get comfortable, and sleep eluded her. Something felt different about this one. It was as if the storm was focused on their little cottage, tearing at it, trying to get inside. As if it had a mind of its own, a strong mind, one which meant them ill.

And it was _reaching_...

She snapped fully awake again, heart thudding. The room was the same as always, the rough wooden beams bare suggestions in the darkness above. She turned her head to the side.

Her husband lay beside her, sound asleep, his snores drowned out by the thunder outside. He didn't seem bothered by whatever was keeping her awake, but he'd spent the entire day fixing the gate and hauling water for the children's bath. Maybe he was just too tired to be bothered by anything.

But something was wrong. Mara swung her legs out of bed. She lit a candle and padded across the landing to the children's room.

The warm glow of the candle revealed peace, and the world grew softer around the edges. All three of them were fast asleep. Ben had kicked his covers half to the floor again and lay flung across his bed, one arm up. The girls were cuddled together on the other bed, Lienna's blonde head burrowed into Thalia's shoulder. Despite her unease, Mara smiled.

"Hey," Luke's low, sleepy voice sounded from behind her. Moments later, a strong arm wrapped around her waist. "You okay?"

"Sure," Mara murmured, leaning back into him. "Just couldn't sleep."

"It's more than that."

Mara sighed. Of course he'd picked up on it. He always did.

But that was all right. It was probably better to talk about it.

"Let's go downstairs," he said, tugging at her waist. "I'll make some tea."

"Sounds good." With one last look at the gently-breathing children, Mara turned to go.

She'd gotten as far as the second step down when behind her, Ben screamed.

She reacted instantly. All of the night's tension sprung loose and she acted without thought. One moment she was on the stairs, the next she was kneeling by Ben's bed, bent over her son.

"Shh, Ben." She reached out to pull him to her, but he fought her, still screaming. His small hands pushed at her, but she held on. "Shh, it's okay, it's me. Ben, sweetie, it's me. You're okay. Shh."

She must have handed Luke the candle, because she no longer had it and the room grew brighter as Luke used it to light the lamp. Ben's face was twisted in fear, and Mara's heart lurched. The light seemed to help, though. He looked at her, and as she kept talking and reassuring him, the panic leaked out of his eyes and they became his again, wide and scared. He stopped fighting then, and pulled himself closer, burying his head against her.

"Mom."

"Shh," she said, wrapping her arms around him. "Shh, it's okay. I'm here."

The tears came and for a few minutes, she just held him, rocking gently. Luke was over by the girls' bed, reassuring them as they stared over at their brother, sleepy-eyed and worried. But whatever had terrified Ben didn't seem to have touched them.

"There's someone outside," Ben said, swallowing down his tears and casting a frightened glance at the window. "There's a man outside."

"There's no one outside, don't worry," Mara said. "It was a dream. You had a nightmare."

"I saw him!" Ben insisted. "What if... what if..."

"There's no one outside." Mara looked over at Luke. "Daddy will have a look, okay?"

"No!" The panic was back in Ben's voice. "He'll know! He'll get in!"

"Nobody's going to get in," Luke said. "The door's locked and—"

"He can get in. He said so. He told me." Ben started crying again. "He told me."

"Ben, there's no one outside," said Mara. "It's the middle of the night and it's far too stormy for anyone to go out."

Ben shook his head. "Not him. He can go anywhere."

Mara cast a worried glance at the girls. She didn't want Ben's talk of a stranger lurking outside giving them nightmares in turn.

Luke seemed to have the same thought. "Come on, girls," he said. "I think we should go and make Ben some tea, don't you think?"

"Yeah!" Thalia jumped up immediately, clearly delighted at being allowed out of bed in the middle of the night. "It'll make him better. And maybe can I have some too?"

"And me!" Lienna sounded more asleep than awake, but apparently that didn't matter when tea past her bedtime was involved. "I wanna help!"

"Come on then." Luke stood and lifted Lianna onto his hip. With his free hand, he led Thalia out of the room. "Careful on the stairs."

Thalia's voice floated back in to them, full of reproach. "I_ know_, Daddy."

"D'you promise there's no one outside, Mom?" Ben asked. The interlude seemed to have gotten him back into the real world a little. "Really promise?"

"I promise," Mara said.

"Can you check?"

That was progress. Mara had sat through enough nightmares with her kids by now to know that once you got to the point where you were allowed to look and make sure and start using reason again, things were looking up. "Of course. You wait here."

She crossed to the window and twitched aside the curtains to look out into the night. She saw nothing out of the ordinary, just the small garden, the gate, and beyond it, the track leading through the woods to the road. And yet...

And yet, there _was_ something there. She couldn't see it, was sure that no one was out there, but something still felt wrong. Maybe she hadn't been uneasy because of Ben's nightmare. Maybe her unease and Ben's nightmare had a common cause.

She didn't like that thought.

"No one there," she reported. "Just the garden and the trees."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

Small feet padded across the room and Ben peeked past her out of the window. "I saw him right there," he said, pointing to the woods just off the track. "He was standing there. And he said he was gonna come and get me."

"And he was scary?" Mara asked, drawing the curtains closed again and pulling Ben onto her lap on his bed.

"Yeah." Ben sniffed again, with finality, and wiped at his eyes with all the annoyance of a boy who didn't like crying and didn't do it often. "He was big and all in black, full of shadow. He didn't have a face. He said I was his and he was gonna come and get me."

Mara's heart lurched for the second time, and for a moment, she felt like she couldn't breathe. It couldn't be. That ominous feeling, that fear... but it couldn't be. It just couldn't.

"But I'm not his, right?" asked Ben.

"No, you're not," said Mara, hugging him tightly. "You're my boy and that's what you're going to stay. No one is going to take you away from me."

"He told me his name," said Ben after another silence, just as Luke was tromping back up the stairs with the girls and three mugs of sweet tea. "I know his name."

"What is it?" asked Mara, even though she suddenly didn't want to play along anymore, didn't want to talk about it at all anymore.

Luke was just coming into the room, smiling, as Ben spoke.

"Darth Vader."

Mara and Luke locked eyes, kids and tea momentarily forgotten, and Mara read her own fear in Luke's expression. It _couldn't_ be.

"Ben," she said, "listen to me. Darth Vader is dead. He can't hurt you."

"How do you _know_?" Ben asked.

"Because I saw him get captured, I was there," she said. "Your father and I met him a long time ago. Remember? Back when I left the Fae?"

"Daddy fought him."

"That's right. And the Fae caught him. Remember? He's gone."

Ben nodded, looking a little bit reassured at least. He accepted a mug from Luke and snuggled up next to Mara. "Are you _sure_?"

"Yes," Mara said, fighting the urge to close her eyes against the memories. "I'm sure."

And she was, she told herself. Once the Fae had something, they did not let it go. She knew that. It was what made them so formidable. It was what had made her hate them, and it was what had made her trust them.

She kissed the top of Ben's head and reached out to help him keep his mug steady. "It was just a nightmare, Ben. Only a nightmare."

She looked back at Luke again, and knew that they were both trying hard not to remember that she herself was living proof that the Fae sometimes made exceptions.


	3. Beginnings

The edges of the storm also reached across the border into the kingdom of Nirauan. The wind chased around Hand Fortress, but it was already weaker here, and by morning, it had died down altogether.

The Hand Fortress was an impressive building, a collection of four-and-a-half massive towers forming the corners of the castle and keep. Inside, it was equally impressive, with enough chambers and halls to get lost in and long, wide corridors with floors of smooth marble, lined by tall windows.

In the solar, on the top floor of the palace, the royal family was eating breakfast.

At least, that was the theory. Queen Syal looked around the table as she sat down. To her right sat Wynssa, the youngest, with delicately beautiful features crowned by golden-blond curls. Her resemblance to Syal was obvious, but where Syal was regal and graceful, Wynssa slouched in her seat like a common farmer. No amount of lectures on the subject seemed to help.

Seated to the left were Davin and Chak, both with jet-black hair and square jaws, both with broad shoulders and straight backs. Two young women, one blonde and one dark-haired, sat between them. They shot Syal shy smiles, but looked away when she smiled back.

The seat across from Syal was empty, as were the three next to Wynssa. The first seat presented no mystery to her; Soontir was taking breakfast downstairs while he worked. Another seat was Cem's, who was in bed recovering from his recent bout of flu. But the other two had no such excuses.

Syal sighed. "Where are Jagged and Cherith?"

Chak and Davin looked at each other. Experience said that this question, asked in this tone of voice, was not a good sign. Experience also made them grateful that they weren't able to answer it this time around. They turned to their little sister. The number one rule of sibling interaction is that there are no alliances when Mother is looking for a culprit.

Wynssa shot them a betrayed look and mumbled something.

Syal had good ears, but she wasn't about to let on. "What was that? Sit up straight, young lady, and speak so that we can hear you."

Wynssa only heaved a sigh. Across the table from her, the other two young women now looked like they had steel rods nailed to their backs. They were afraid of Syal. The Queen of Nirauan was beautiful, graceful and gracious, admired and respected by all. She also managed to inject more steel into a smile than any sword in the fortress could boast. So far, no such smile or ensuing lecture had been aimed at them, and they were filled with a terrified determination to keep it that way.

Wynssa never paid much attention to these things, but after another look from her mother, she straightened as well, every movement heavy with reluctance. "It's too early to sit up straight."

"If we went by your clock on that, we'd never do it," Syal said. "Now, what did you say?"

"They're down in the yard," Wynssa said loudly, in accordance with rule one for siblings. "For practice."

"Right." Syal folded her napkin and stood, waving for everyone else to stay seated before striding from the room. With determination defining her steps, she made her way down to the yard.

The practice yard was a wide space off the main courtyard, with painted targets arranged along one wall and a low overhang jutting out from another, extended out from the building that housed the armoury and smithy. Men and elves from the Chiss clan milled about, cleaning weapons, repairing sheaths, and sparring.

A young man stood across from the targets, bow in one hand, loosing arrow after arrow at his chosen circle. He was of average height and lean build, handsome in a serious sort of way, but not a man who tended to draw attention even if he stood in the centre of the room.

But that changed the minute he moved. Under his loose, wide-sleeved white shirt and black pants, his motions were precise and economic. He gave off the impression that every slight flexing of muscle had purpose, and a thought-out purpose at that.

His other striking feature was a white streak that ran into his jet-black hair from above his left temple. It followed the line of a scar, which traced down to his left eye.

His name was Jagged Fel, and he was currently in his element.

He pulled another arrow from the quiver on his back, nocked it to the string, drew, exhaled, and let fly. The arrow embedded itself neatly in the straw, completing the small circle that its predecessors had started to form.

Jag lowered his bow, strode over to inspect his work, and gave a satisfied nod.

"Show-off," a voice remarked from beside him. It belonged to a young woman. Her resemblance to Jag was immediately apparent; she had the same high cheekbones, the same pale green eyes, and the same straight nose. Her features were softer, however, and the long hair spilling down her back was a rich golden-brown. She was clad in a simple grey dress and, like Jag, held a bow in her hand.

Few people would have taken her for Princess Cherith, but this was because most people put too much store in appearance. Even in a plain dress, with her hair unstyled and no paint on her face, Cherith held herself with an unmistakable grace. She did everything with grace, including archery. She could make a man fall in love by simply nocking an arrow to her string, not that she would have done so had she been aware of it.

Jag began plucking the arrows out of the straw with quick, neat motions. "I'm practicing."

"Showing off," Cherith insisted, her smile growing.

He raised his eyebrows. "Jealous?"

"Critical. Showing off is for pretty boys."

"I'm not a pretty boy."

"Then why are you showing off?"

Syal, who had made it down to the yard by now, stood in the doorway and watched them bicker. When Cherith tapped Jagged with the feathered end of an arrow and he moved to retaliate, she stepped forward into the yard and raised her voice. "Good morning!"

* * *

His mother's voice made Jag flinch, even though he didn't, strictly speaking, have anything to feel guilty about. The voice was doing its best to persuade him of the opposite. He exchanged a look with Cherith, who looked as guilty as he was trying hard not to feel.

They turned. Syal was walking towards them across the cobblestones, her dress floating around her lithe figure. Her expression was a mix of friendly smile and determined blue eyes that Jag knew well.

He stood to attention. "Good morning, Mother."

"Oh, don't," she said. "What are you doing here?"

Jag indicated the straw target and the arrows in his hand. "Target practice."

"I can see that. I suppose what I meant to ask was, 'why are you here instead of at your dance lesson'?"

Jag glanced up. The sun was not yet high enough to slant down into the yard. It was barely halfway down the West Tower, which at this time of year meant that he still had a quarter of an hour. "It's not until half past nine."

Syal blew out a sigh. "Jagged." She came closer and gave him a look that was half-appealing, half-knowing. "If you're going to get up early and beg off breakfast, why don't you spend the extra time at your dance lessons? You hardly need more target practice, but the ball is less than a week away."

"That would defeat the purpose of getting up early," Jag told her. "I wanted some time for this."

"You didn't even excuse yourself. Neither of you did. I had to ask the others."

"Sorry," Cherith said. "But you weren't awake yet, and we figured..."

"Yes, yes." Syal waved the matter away. "The point is, you have better things to do."

"But Jag already knows how to dance." Cherith caught Jag's arm and began a waltz. Jag almost stumbled before he caught himself and fell into the rhythm, leading Cherith through a few steps.

Syal watched them, eyebrows raised. Then her eyes narrowed. "Very nice. So why is it that only yesterday, I heard Master Posiandro tell Shawnkyr that we'd left it too late and you'd take another month or two to learn?"

"Master Posiandro is given to exaggeration," Jag said.

"And he gossips like a lady," Cherith added.

Syal just looked at them. Jag shrugged. "It's my responsibility as a student to challenge my teachers, is it not? And that would be impossible if I always displayed the full range of my abilities."

Cherith laughed. Syal managed to hold the stern look on her face for another moment, then she, too, broke into a smile and chuckled. "I'm glad you're so sure of yourself."

Jag blew out a breath. "I promise I'll be up to the job next week."

"Why don't you prove it to Master Posiandro?"

"Because watching his desperation is the only fun part of dancing lessons," Cherith answered, grinning her impish grin. "Being good at it takes all the fun out of it."

Jag shook his head before his mother could voice her exasperation. "If I don't give the man a challenge, he'll get bored and start teaching me ballet." He began stowing the arrows back into his quiver. "It's simple strategy."

Cherith giggled. Syal nodded. "I appreciate your concern in sparing the world that sight." Amusement sparked in her eyes, but she maintained her expression this time. "But Jagged, you know this ball is a privilege, not a chore. Most young men in the realm would gladly trade places with you."

"Let them," Jag muttered before he could stop himself. That particular argument had never made any sense to him. If starving children would be happy to eat the mashed peas he hated so much, if most young men would love to be fussed and giggled over by a score of young ladies, then as far as he was concerned they could take his place and both parties would be happier. Other people's jealousy was not a valid reason to like something.

This kind of logic is hard to argue with. Syal, therefore, did not try. Instead, she fell back on the time-honoured tradition of mothers everywhere, and appealed to her son's sense of duty.

"Jagged! You're almost twenty-one. You know it's high time you took a bride."

This much was true. It is hard not to know something when people insist on telling you, and Jag had always been quick on the uptake. He wasn't entirely against the idea of marriage, either. He just didn't agree that it had to be _now_.

"Things you can just_ take_ usually aren't worth it," he said.

Syal shook her head. "I hope you don't live to regret those words." She put a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye. "Love and marriage aren't the worst things in the world, you know. Your brothers are very happy. Your father and I are happy. Why are you fighting it so hard?"

Jagged grunted. "It's not that. It's the part where I have to dress up and get paraded around like a prize stallion that bothers me. Davin and Chak had a fun time of it, didn't they? It was an adventure. For you and Dad, too."

Cherith chuckled. "You had an adventure too. You just didn't want the girl. Your fault."

Jag grimaced. It hadn't been his fault at all. Really, it hadn't been anyone's. He had gone along with Chak and Davin on their adventure, and he had helped them rescue Aurora and Yasmina—not sisters, but two young ladies who had been imprisoned in a tower, in the best of traditions. It hadn't been his fault that the third, the youngest, had failed to live up to the folk tale standards and been hideously ugly as well as spoilt, demanding, and generally the most unpleasant person he'd ever met.

When "kiss me" sounds like a threat of the highest order, it's quite a clear sign that true love is nowhere near the vicinity. True love had, in fact, already run, screaming and wailing in terror, to the hills. Jag had not, but that was down to self-control, which true love lacks almost entirely, and of which Jag had more than he really needed.

Things had worked out for his brothers, though, and so Jag was now top of the list of Fel children to be married off. He wasn't altogether sad about that. It did mean that at least he wasn't married yet.

"I think," said Syal carefully, "that was rather for the best, all things considered. I don't want my children to just be married, you know. I want you to find love. True love."

"You really think I'll find true love in a ballroom?" Jag asked.

"Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, you'll meet some new people. You only spend time with your sisters and Cem these days. It'll be good to be around other young people for a change."

Jag nodded. He knew that there was no point in arguing the matter. His twenty-first birthday was a week away and the ball had been arranged for months; he'd signed and sent the last of the invitations a month ago. It was part of his job, one of his duties as a prince of Nirauan.

And maybe he _would_ meet a young lady, and maybe they _would_ hit it off and he'd have what his brothers and parents had found. But he doubted it. For whatever reason, true love had taken a good, long look at Jagged Fel, and decided that he was going to have to work for it.

Jag did not tell his mother any of this. He only nodded. "Yes, I know. And I am grateful."

He smiled, a subtle quirk of his mouth, and had the satisfaction of seeing her smile brightly at him in return. Then he unstrung his bow, stored it and the quiver back in the armoury, and went to his dance lesson. Because that was his duty.

* * *

This was a different castle, back across the border from Nirauan, sitting amidst dewy fields and forests in the kingdom of Alderaan.

It wasn't, strictly speaking, a castle. It had been built as a temple, a heavy, no-nonsense affair in granite and oak, shaped like a pyramid. Like all good temples, it was ancient and looked it, with weeds and lichen covering its rough-hewn stone exterior. Its many floors boasted enough space to house an army, if it was a small, badly-equipped army whose members didn't care about personal space.

It was currently known as Yavin Castle, and it only housed a small, badly-equipped household consisting of Lady Callista and her daughters and servants. Only two of its floors were in use.

They, that is, the floors, were routinely scrubbed. Right at this moment, this was being done with a marked lack of enthusiasm by a young woman wearing a shabby dress, a fierce scowl, and no shoes.

Technically, her name was Tahiri Ming, but she never used it. Like Sunday best, she reserved that name for formal occasions, or more precisely, situations where she didn't have a choice. This was not an act of rebellion, but simple preference. She did not like being called "Ming".

Tahiri Veila, daughter of Cassa and Tryst, child of the Tusken, slapped more water onto the floor with a sodden mop. It didn't do much more than redistribute the grime.

"Tahiri!" called a voice from the other end of the hall. It should have been shrill. It should have screeched. Instead, it was rich and slightly husky, the audio equivalent of dark chocolate and coffee.

Tahiri sighed and stuck the mop into the water bucket. It considered staying upright for about two seconds, then fell over, the handle bouncing off the flagstones. Tahiri skipped over it and hurried along the hallway.

"Tahiri!" the voice called again.

"Coming!" Tahiri yelled.

She reached the end of the hallway and turned right. A tall, heavy door led into what Lady Callista insisted on calling the ladies' boudoir.

The lady herself was sitting in her usual chair by the window, a book on her lap. It was one of those unmarked, fabric-bound books which looked like it should contain poetry in some long-dead language but could equally well be full of blood boiling in veins, eyes with hidden depths, swooning galore, and words like "molten", "dashing", and "oh, Edward". It was difficult to tell, but the fact that Callista insisted on a 'boudoir' seemed to point in the direction of the latter.

She regarded Tahiri with smoky grey eyes. "There you are. Come here. Alema's dress is falling apart."

Alema Rar Ming stood nearby, resplendent in a fashionably cut, dark blue dress that complemented her light blue skin. Her long braids, the traditional style of the Twi'lek elf clan, lay draped over her shoulders, and her pretty features were framed by an elaborate elvish head band that matched her dress. She glowered at Tahiri, who did her best not to glower back.

Alema and her twin sister Numa were adopted, just like Tahiri, but unlike Tahiri, they were ladies in practice as well as name. They had dance lessons and fancy dresses while Tahiri cleaned the fire places and wore old, torn skirts. But she didn't mind. She was astute enough to realise that being a lady involved a lot of duties she wouldn't like, and she was used to hard work. Life at Yavin wasn't nearly as hard as life with the Tusken had been.

Admittedly, at moments like this, she had to struggle to remember that.

"The skirt's coming loose," Alema said, her tone making it an accusation. Tahiri didn't take it personally. She was too busy trying not to snigger.

"It was born loose," she muttered, unable to resist.

"What?"

"Probably torn loose," Tahiri said, more loudly. "Let me have a look."

The dress was beautiful, especially since Alema's curves filled it out perfectly. Tahiri knew it inside out—literally, because she had done most of the sewing. It took her less than a minute to find the place where the seam was coming apart.

"Got it," she announced. "It shouldn't take long to fix. I'll go get my sewing kit—"

"Later," Callista interrupted. "Alema, you'll just have to get changed. And you too, Tahiri. We're going into town."

Tahiri turned in surprise. "All of us?"

Callista went into the various nearby towns quite often, along with Tahiri's two stepsisters. Tahiri herself was usually excluded from these outings. When she went to town, she went alone, with a basket and strict instructions from either Callista or the cook.

"Yes. Kam is ill, so you'll have to drive us."

"Can't Miko—oh." Tahiri cut herself off. Callista had fired Miko two weeks ago, because he'd supposedly made an inappropriate comment towards Alema. Tahiri had been there, so she knew that it was true. "No, I'm married" was a very inappropriate thing to say to Alema.

"Yes, yes, oh," Callista said impatiently, waving Alema towards the door that led towards the twins' chambers. "Go on and change, darling. Tahiri, take the dress with you and go put on your best."

Alema glowered. "This better not happen to my ball gown," she said. "I don't want her anywhere near it, Mother."

"Of course not," Callista assured her. When Alema had swept out, Callista stood. She was a tall woman, half a head taller than Tahiri, and slender and graceful along with it. Her grey eyes narrowed and her beautiful features took on a nasty edge as she glared.

"Tahiri, just so we're clear. If you try to sabotage the ball for them, I swear, you'll never see the outside of the kitchen again. So any smart ideas about accidents that these dresses might have on the way home or thereafter, forget them right now."

Tahiri stifled a sigh. Ever since the invitations had arrived, Callista and the twins had been gripped by an oddly serious excitement. Prince Jagged and his ball had become the sole subject of discussion. Tahiri had made a comment about it once, which had sent the kitchen boy into hysterics but thankfully gone over Callista's head by a mile. (Her "Of course he's only having one, why would he have two balls for his birthday?" hadn't made things any better.) It was a big chance for the Rar sisters, the opportunity to meet and ensnare influential young men, preferably the prince himself.

And Tahiri wasn't going anywhere. That much had been clear from the start. She had an invitation, of course; Callista had thrown it in the fire, but Tahiri was in charge of tending the fires and had rescued it. She wasn't sure why. The gold-leafed card with its careful calligraphy lay tucked under her mattress now, a small reminder of defiance.

Somehow, thinking of it seemed to make it easier to put up with her putative sisters' whining and whims. It made a lot of things easier. It said that she hadn't been forgotten entirely.

"I don't want to sabotage anything," Tahiri said now. She couldn't help feeling a little insulted. Even if she had wanted to sabotage the Rar sisters somehow, she would have thought of something a little more clever. And less redundant. Making Alema's skirt come loose at the ball probably came under help rather than sabotage, anyway.

With an effort, Tahiri kept her tongue in check. "It's their big chance. I get it. Fine. Good luck."

"Oh, please. Don't pretend that you wish them well."

"I wish them all the luck in the world in finding a husband," Tahiri said, her tone leaving it up to Callista to decide whether that counted as "well" or "ill". She wasn't sure herself if it would be a good or bad thing, but she meant it either way. If the Rar sisters married, they would go to live with their husbands and become their problems.

"You just make sure you fix this dress," Callista said sharply. She tended to get snappy when Tahiri said things that sounded innocent or friendly. Their real meaning did tend to fly over her head, but she was good at hearing the whooshing sound as they sped past. It made her suspicious. Sometimes she even heard it when it wasn't there.

Alema's torn dress came flying through the door, borne by a spell, and Tahiri hurried to pick it up. Callista nodded, still annoyed. "Hurry up and get changed. Then get the carriage and wait outside."

"Yes, m'lady." Tahiri executed a perfect curtsy and ran up to her room. _Maybe I will go to the ball_, she thought savagely as she pulled on the plain blouse and brown woollen frock, grimacing when she slipped her feet into the hated shoes that she would have to wear. _Maybe I'll find a dress somewhere, or steal some money and buy one, and I'll go and impress Prince Jagged and marry him, and _then_ let them try to order me around..._

It should have been a tempting thought. But even while she thought it, Tahiri knew that she wouldn't do it. Life at Yavin wasn't bad, really. Sure, Callista and the girls tried to provoke her at every turn, but Tahiri wasn't stupid. She had a place to sleep and plenty of food, and she liked the castle and grounds.

And right now, she had a trip into town to look forward to. She wouldn't be able to hear any complaints from up on the driver's seat, and she'd get to talk to the people in Hormford while the others went to the dressmaker's. Life wasn't all that bad, when you thought about it.


	4. Jedi Bounty

The town of Hormford covered the side of a hill, with a castle at the top. Its name was a testament to the humility of the castle's lord, one Threkim Horm.

It was also currently the scene of a crime, which was still in the process of being committed. It was an unusual sort of crime, and—so far—no one had noticed.

The only thing out of the ordinary – so far – was the sight of two young men walking up the main street, straight towards the castle. The unusual thing about them was that one had his hands tied behind his back, and the other was marching him firmly along the cobbled street. People were watching. It was the most exciting thing that had happened in Hormford in weeks. Boys yelled insults and speculations at the two men and each other, girls crowded together to giggle and watch, and the women were all twice as busy with their work as usual. Most of said work seemed to take them close to the main street, which was a remarkable coincidence that everyone was careful not to comment on.

"Who is that?" asked one, in low tones.

"I don't know, some criminal," said another, carefully rearranging the contents of her basket. "That's the second one this week. Good to see his lordship cracking down on them."

"Poor lad," said a third, in between avidly discussing her need for a new door handle with the first woman, the carpenter's wife. "He's too young for this."

"Oh, Martha, you and your pity. If he's not too young for crime, he's not too young for the dungeons," said the carpenter's wife, in the firm tones of one who has never stolen, or at any rate, never been caught.

The two men drew closer. The captor looked cheerful, sending a smile their way. He looked anything but respectable, in a plain homespun shirt and a dark wool tunic that didn't quite fit, but that didn't matter. To anyone on the receiving end of his smile, nothing much seemed to matter at all.

Seeing that smile, Martha's curiosity decided that this man could be trusted, and would surely satisfy it. She smiled back at him. "Good morning, young man. And who's this?"

The young man flashed a proud grin. "This, ma'am, is Anakin Solo. Give the ladies a smile, Anakin."

Anakin only sent a sullen glare their way. He was a tall young man of eighteen, dark-haired and handsome with the bluest eyes that the three women had ever seen. The way they glared made all three women take a step back. Something about that look made you suddenly notice the way muscles flexed under his torn shirt, the broadness of his shoulders, and the indefinable but unmistakable air of power that seemed to cling to him.

The other young man did not seem to notice. "Don't mind him, he's having a bad day." He tugged at Anakin. "Come on, you, you have a date with the dungeons. Good day to you, ladies." He waved over his shoulder as he kept walking.

"Anakin Solo?" Martha echoed, watching the two disappear. "The one from the poster?"

"I heard he fought a dozen guards in Bespin," said the carpenter's wife.

"Yes, and he killed three archers near Yavin," said Martha. "With their own arrows."

"And he stole the sword in the stone over in Belleau-a-Lir."

"Just plucked them out of the air and threw them back. Just like that."

"Of course the sword's quite useless, half-rusted away, but even so..."

"And he ambushed Lady Norette and stole her jewels," said the woman with the basket, not to be left out.

"I've always wondered about that," said Martha. "Do you suppose it was her actual jewels, or her... you know..."

"He'd hardly have to steal that," said the carpenter's daughter, who'd squeezed past her mother to watch the two young men leave. Her eyes lingered on Anakin Solo's slowly disappearing back, especially one particular section of it.

Her mother slapped her ear. "You go back inside, young lady!"

"She has a point—," began Martha thoughtfully.

The carpenter's wife made a little disapproving sound in her throat. "Well, I say good riddance," she said haughtily. "I for one am quite glad that his lordship is cracking down on the criminals around here."

* * *

At around the same time, the Skywalker family was walking along the narrow road that led from Luke and Mara's cottage to the small homestead that everyone knew simply as "the Eyrie". "Walking" wasn't altogether the right term, of course. The only one to whom it really applied was Luke, who had Lienna sitting on his shoulders because she was a princess this morning and he was the royal horse.

Thalia was also a princess, but one in the best family tradition, which meant that she was exiled and carried a sword. She was alternately chasing and helping Ben, who was a smuggler (in the somewhat worse family tradition).

Mara chased and raced them both. She hadn't slept very well, but anger and determination were simmering inside her, which translated into an urge to move. The kids didn't notice, because they were too busy having fun with their mother, but Luke did. Mara's laughter had an edge to it, and whenever she caught one of her kids, she held on a little tighter than usual.

The Eyrie was less than half an hour's walk away from the Skywalker home. It consisted of a cottage, slightly larger than the Skywalkers', a generous back yard containing a stable and workshop with an overhang for firewood, a vegetable garden, and a field that was used as a paddock. It was home to a donkey, who spent most of his time eating and trying to out-stubborn his humans. The paddock sloped downwards, because the homestead was built on top of a small hill. A path led down to a stone well, and beyond that lay the forest.

A woman stood in the back yard, hanging up shirts and breeches on a line strung across it. She was short and slender, with long dark hair in braids wrapped around her head, and striking, beautiful dark eyes.

When she heard the childrens' shouting beyond the house, she smiled, wiped her hands on her apron, and walked around the side of the house.

Thalia saw her first.

"Aunt Leia!" she yelled, and abandoned her game with Ben to run towards her aunt. Leia caught her and swung her around before setting her back down.

"Hi there, Thaly! How are you?"

"Fine." The girl's dark blond curls, glinting with copper in the sunlight, were mussed as usual, and her green eyes shone. "I'm a warrior princess, look!"

She produced a stick from somewhere, and Leia feigned shock, leaning backwards. "Yikes! You look dangerous!"

Thalia gave her a look that appealed to her better knowledge. "Not to you!"

"No? Then who have you been beating up?"

"Bad guys!"

"Oh, well done!" Leia waved at her brother and sister-in-law, who had come up to join them.

"Hi Auntie Leia!" Lienna yelled from Luke's shoulders, drowning out her parents.

Luke shook his head, a boyish grin on his face as he grabbed his daughter and deposited her on the ground. "All right, young lady. I think you can walk on your own now."

"Hey, I'm the princess, I give the orders!" Lienna said, her expression that of a girl of who knows that she can get away with it if she's cute enough.

The adults, right on cue, burst into laughter. Lienna was three years old, the youngest Solo-Skywalker family member, and she was determined to make up for this by ensuring that she was the centre of attention wherever she went. She managed with a mix of blonde, blue-eyed cuteness and natural talent for entertainment. She was the kind of girl who inspired wryly ominous predictions regarding her teens in everyone who met her. The male members of her generation, it was usually felt, had better watch out.

"Aunt Leia won't let horses into her house," Luke said. "And she's a princess, too, remember? This is her castle. We'll have to do it her way."

Lienna nodded and ran up to Leia, twisting her head awkwardly to show Leia the back. "Look, Mommy did my hair like yours!"

Leia looked. The little girl's downy, white-blond hair was nowhere near long enough to braid around her head like Leia's usually was, but Mara had done her best with a Hapan plait.

"Wow, yes, I see it," Leia said, smiling. "You look really pretty." Before she could say more, Ben was tugging at her sleeve.

"Aunt Leia, look!" He pointed a dirty finger at his mouth and opened it. "I losht a toosh!"

"Lost a tooth?" Leia looked. "Oh, yes, I see. Did it hurt?"

"Nope!" Ben shook his head, his red-gold curls flying around his face. "I tied a string to it and wiggled it, and then it fell out. It bled, but I didn't mind."

"You're a brave one," Leia praised him. "Well done. But that reminds me. Do you think you can still eat apple pie with one tooth less?"

"Yeah!" Ben looked up at her, grey eyes wide. "Are you making apple pie?"

"Shhh." Leia gave him a conspiratorial smile and tapped the side of her nose. She turned to his parents, who were watching the scene with amused smiles. "Will you come in for coffee?"

Luke and Mara exchanged a look.

"Sure," Mara said. "Is Jacen coming today?"

Leia sighed. Luke and Mara usually left the children with her when they went on their trips to various towns and villages in the area, to offer their help to those who were sick or injured. Her son Jacen often accompanied them, although no one seemed able to decide whether he did more healing or more flirting.

"Jacen isn't here," she said. "He and the others left early this morning. Come on in." She led the way around to the back door.

Strictly speaking, it was the only door. Everyone always used the back door, so Han Solo had reasoned that there was no real need to have a front door at all. The only real uses for a front door were one, after a wedding when you had to carry the bride through, and two, after a death when you had to carry a coffin through. When he and Chewie had built the house, Han hadn't been too concerned with brides, and building a door just to carry a coffin through it was, he said, plain morbid.

There was a door at the front, for the look of the thing, but it had a wall behind it. So far, no one had really noticed this. Visitors always used the back door, and they seldom got any further than the kitchen.

Which was where the back door led. The kitchen was the biggest room in the house, its central meeting-place. It was bright, and warm, and it smelled of coffee and cinnamon.

The kids stayed in the yard to play, and Leia poured Luke and Mara some coffee and sat down.

"So where are your three?" asked Luke, who had noted Leia's reaction outside.

"They went to help Zekk," Leia said. "Apparently, the less I know, the better."

"Oh," Mara said, immediately sympathetic. "One of those."

No one had ever held out much hope that the children of Han and Leia Solo would lead quiet lives without trouble. Even so, Leia still worried every time they went off on yet another not-quite-explained venture. It was normal, but unpleasant. Mara, whose eldest child was not quite seven years old yet and already played at being a smuggler, could sympathise.

"Yeah, one of those," Leia said. She blew out a breath. "Oh well. They might get in trouble a lot, but at least they've got plenty of practice getting back out of it."

* * *

Anakin and his captor, meanwhile, had reached the drawbridge that led to the keep. It was down, and manned by two guards. Anakin's captor came to a stop before them. "I'm here for the bounty on Anakin Solo."

One of the guards gestured to Anakin. "That's him?"

The young man rolled his eyes. "No, that's my other captive. Of course it's him. You have seen the wanted posters, right?"

"I have," the other guard said, looking Anakin up and down. "Doesn't look like much, does he?"

"They never do, close up."

The guard conceded that with a shrug. "Looks like him, all right. What's your name, son?"

"Lars. Lars Hanson."

"Where'd you find this rat?"

"Stealing horses in Pleauvin," Lars said, naming a small village further north.

"Well, go on in," the first guard said. "They'll take him off your hands in the guard house."

"Where do I collect my money?"

"Go with the guards, they'll bring you to the lord or his treasurer."

Lars inclined his head. "Got it. Thanks. Have a nice day."

The guard house was right across the drawbridge, a big towered building with a tall tunnel through it leading to the keep beyond. Two guards took hold of Anakin, and a third led them towards the main castle building across the yard, Lars beside him.

"You a bounty hunter?" the leading guard asked.

Lars shrugged. "Not usually. But I got the tip out of the blue, and I figured hey, ten silvers is a good price."

"It is. We've been looking for this lad for months. Who found him?"

"My brother. He's good like that."

"Why didn't he go for it himself?"

"Oh, he's not really into that stuff. Couldn't catch a rat with a trap, know what I mean?"

The guard laughed, unaware of Anakin's blue eyes suddenly glaring daggers at Lars's back. "Yeah. Well, nice work."

"Thanks, uh..." Lars smiled. "Sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Shayn Darrick."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Lars."

Darrick shook the proffered hand, amused despite himself. There was something inherently likeable about the young man beside him. "What age are you, son?"

"Nineteen." Lars looked up. "Wow. Nice place you got here."

Darrick laughed. "Not mine."

"But you get to work here. How do you become a guard, anyway?"

"What, you thinking of taking it up?"

"I'm a good fighter," Lars said. "I'm sure I could do it."

"You can always come and try out," Darrick told him. "It's not really—oh, here we are."

Lord Threkim was otherwise engaged, but his chancellor confirmed Anakin's identity from the wanted poster and the lad's own gruff admission, looking well-pleased by the whole affair. He sent Lars with the treasurer and Darrick while Anakin was hauled away by the other two guards.

The treasurer was a shy man in his thirties who shot Lars coy looks while he counted out the bounty. Lars, true to form, noticed straight away, and when the man placed the final coin in his hand, he winked. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_," the treasurer said. "You've done us a great service."

"No problem." Lars leaned a little closer. "Hey... any chance I could get some food while I'm here?"

"Absolutely." The treasurer beamed at him. "The girls in the kitchen will look after you."

"I'm about to go on break myself," said Darrick, whose daughter worked in the kitchen. "Come with me."

"Great. Thank you." Lars turned another brilliant smile on the treasurer and shook his hand. "It was nice to meet you. Thanks for everything."

He followed Darrick down to the kitchen, leaving the treasurer sighing over what a lovely young man he was.

The women in the kitchen agreed. Within moments of his arrival, he was sitting at the long wooden table at the back of the kitchen, surrounded by several maids as he ate black bread with sausage and roasted vegetables and regaled them with the tale of Anakin Solo's capture.

* * *

The carriage wheels rattled over the cobblestones and pondered to a stop at a street corner. Tahiri leaned forward to look down the narrow alley leading off the street. It was too narrow for a carriage. A few houses along it, she could make out the dark green sign of the dressmaker's shop.

"We're here!" she called over her shoulder.

Callista and the Rar sisters climbed gingerly out of the carriage, commenting about the filth on the street. Tahiri said nothing. It was always good when they had something to complain about which didn't involve her.

"Tahiri, stay with the carriage and turn it," Callista ordered. "Aside from that, you only move it if someone wants it moved, understood?"

"Absolutely." Tahiri positioned herself by the driver's box, hand close to the reins, the picture of obedience. Callista nodded and turned to sweep down the alley, the Rar twins close behind.

Tahiri led the horses along the street and around a small yard nearby before bringing the carriage back to the street corner, now facing the other way. She looked around, smiling. It was still a beautiful day, and knowing Alema and Numa, she had at least half an hour now in which she had absolutely nothing to do.

Across the street, a young woman was just emerging from an inn, carrying a bucket of water and some rags. She set the lot down under a window and looked around, apparently enjoying the sunshine for a moment.

Tahiri caught her eye, and smiled. "Hi. You want a hand?"

The woman studied her for the briefest instant, then smiled back. "Sure. That'd be great."

* * *

Anakin, meanwhile, had reached the dungeons. Like all good dungeons they were dark and damp, the air filled with despair and hopelessness and the cumulative smell of men with no hygiene facilities. The guards replaced the ropes around his hands with iron shackles and marched him down the small passage to a cell. They shoved him inside, looking briefly disappointed when he didn't slam into the wall, and locked the grid-iron door behind him.

Anakin sat down on the ground and listened to them leave, their banter and footsteps receding from the dungeon. Another door slammed shut, a key turned, and then silence fell.

He waited another few moments, then he moved forward until his chest bumped against the door. "Zekk?"

For a moment, nothing happened. Then a man's voice came from the darkness, sounding incredulous. "Anakin?"

"Hey there. Heard you got yourself locked up."

"Yeah." Zekk sounded disgusted. "It should be illegal for one man to be so unlucky. Kriffing guard walked in at literally the one wrong second."

"Tough break," Anakin commented.

"And you? Why are you here?"

Anakin's shrug made the chains from his shackles clack. "Jacen brought me in."

"_Jacen _brought—?" Zekk sounded even more confused, if that was possible. "What's going on?"

"Relax." Anakin settled with his back to the wall and did his best to get comfortable. "All part of the plan."

Zekk's snort echoed from the dripping walls. "This, I can't wait to see."

Anakin couldn't help but grin. "Yeah. Me, too."

* * *

While Anakin was being locked in a dungeon cell and "Lars" was entertaining the castle's kitchen maids, a young woman strolled towards the drawbridge, looking around with an amiable smile on her face. Sunlight glinted on her brown hair, which was coiled around her head with several pins and ribbons. Her homespun blouse and skirt, liberally stained with dirt and grease, marked her as a kitchen girl or serving maid of some kind, the kind of girl who was found around Horm Castle by the dozen, unremarkable and unnoticed.

At least, mostly unnoticed.

"Hey there," one of the gate guards said, straightening from his slouch and stepping towards her. "And who might you be?"

A coy smile accompanied the hint of a blush. "Jaina."

"That's a pretty name."

Jaina rewarded that with another shy smile. "Thanks. What's yours?"

"Norys." The guard flashed her a grin. "So, Jaina. What's your business in the castle?"

Jaina hefted the basket which hung over her arm. "I'm to bring this to the kitchens."

"Well, aren't they lucky, getting a visit from a pretty girl like you."

"Oh, good grief, Norys," the other guard cut in. "You flirt in your own damned time, not on duty."

Norys aimed a cuff at his companion, which the other dodged. "Mind your own business." He turned back to the girl, who still stood before him, clutching her basket. "So, Jaina. What do I get for letting you through, huh?"

Wide brown eyes, guileless and beautiful, met his. "I didn't know there was a toll."

"There's not," the other guard said. "Let her through, Norys."

"All I want's a kiss," Norys said, smiling at Jaina. "That's not so bad, is it?"

Jaina looked down at her shoes, looking embarrassed as her blush deepened. She looked briefly distracted, but it was hard to tell. Then she looked back up, her eyes capturing those of Norys, and leaned forward. "Is it?" she asked, her voice low. "You'd take advantage of a girl like that?"

Norys stared back into her eyes, and two things happened. First, he became aware that they were the most beautiful, transfixing eyes he'd ever seen. And second, he felt suddenly and intensely ashamed of himself.

"No," he muttered. If he'd had any prior experience of it, he would have identified the feeling that washed through him as guilt. As it was, he just knew that the girl before him was suddenly making him very uncomfortable. "'Course not. Off you go. Move along."

Jaina gave him a bright smile. "Thank you."

He watched as she moved past and into the castle courtyard, and trudged along the path towards the kitchens. His companion smirked at him, and Norys gave him a glare, although he didn't really know why. The discomfort was gone and forgotten, and the girl's rejection hardly stung at all.

He was used to being shot down.

* * *

Jaina kept the smile on her face as she walked across the drawbridge and into the castle grounds. The men in the guardhouse stopped her to investigate the contents of her basket the way Norys and the other guard should have, saw only eggs, and waved her on.

The main building lay in front of her, flanked by the big, round tower on the right and reaching almost to the wall on the left. Further to the right she, made out the stables and other outbuildings.

She walked around the yard, following the path to the servants' entrance around the back. When she was behind the tower, she dropped her shawl and sighed in annoyance as it fluttered towards the tower, borne on a sudden breeze which seemed to have come out of nowhere, much like Norys's conscience.

It was a matter of moments to retrieve the bundle she'd tucked under her long skirt and carry it over towards the tower when she went to pick up her shawl. There was a small hole in the ground, covered by an iron grid, which let air and a little light into the dungeon. The iron grid was new. It had been bars once, and Jaina's eight-year-old self had been able to squeeze through it, to free her father from one of the cells that lay beyond it.

That plan was out now. But she had new resources to make up for it.

She pushed the bundle through the grid, fastened her shawl back around her shoulders, picked up her basket, and headed for the kitchen entrance.

Jacen sat at the table, eating as usual, surrounded by a flock of women who listened and laughed while he talked. One of them sat on his lap. He glanced over when she entered, but only gave her distant sort of smile before turning back to his audience.

"Captain Darrick?" he said loudly. "You never did elaborate on how I can sign up for guard duty..."

The guard, his helmet on the table beside him, regarded him with amusement. "Are you sure you want to be a guard, son?"

"Sure." Jacen looked around, eyebrows raised. "I think I could be guard, right, ladies?"

They hurried to assure him that he could, and Jaina smiled faintly and stored Darrick's name away for later.

An older woman, her eyes still bright with laughter, turned to look at her. "Hello. And you are?"

"Margat asked me to bring these," Jaina said, holding up the basket.

"Oh, good, good." The woman had a bright smile for her. "Just, uh—" She looked around, briefly flustered.

"I can bring them to the pantry," Jaina offered.

"Perfect! Thank you."

The pantry was at the other end of the kitchen, away from Jacen and his stories. When Jaina had dropped off the basket, Jacen was just building up to a punchline, all eyes on him. Jaina double-checked to make sure that she was unobserved, then she slipped through the door that led to the rest of the castle.

* * *

In his cell below the tower, Anakin stirred when he heard the faint noise at the end of the hallway. "Zekk? Time to move."

He got to his feet, one hand pulling free of his shackles. Bending over the lock on his door, he reached inside it with his mind. His sister could have picked it, given a hairpin and a little time, but Anakin needed even less than that.

He explored the lock, finding its shape. His mind formed that shape, and pushed it into the old metal contraption. There was a faint click, and he pushed the door open.

He hurried over to retrieve the satchel that was stuffed into the grid, and shoved it into Zekk's cell. "Get changed."

In the dim light, Zekk was staring at him. "Remind me again why they bother to lock you up?"

Anakin grinned. "Ask them. Hell if I know."

He had the lock open before Zekk had finished pulling the clean shirt over his head. "You'll meet Jaina outside," he said, keeping his voice barely above a whisper. "You're her fella, and you're taking a shortcut through the tower to meet Jacen. Her father's waiting and you need to hurry. Got it?"

"There are guards out there," Zekk protested even as he jammed a bright red hat onto his head, stuffing his hair into it.

"Jacen's taking care of it."

"What about you?"

"Relax, I'll join you later. Here." He handed over a knife. "You need to shave. You leave the minute Jaina gets that door open."

"Why can't you do it?"

Anakin made a face. "I can do the lock, but it's barred from the outside, too. Hurry up."

"I am, I am." Zekk shook his head and concentrated on the blade near his face. He'd just finished when Anakin drew to attention, and the faint sound of metal sliding against metal sounded from the dungeon door.


	5. Scoundrels

Jaina had taken off her shawl and shaken it out so that it became an apron, which she'd tied around her waist. Dressed as she was, making a show of remembering an order for lemon tea and some light snacks, she made her way through the corridors largely unnoticed. She went up one level from the kitchens and along the hallways to the tower entrance. Up here, it was unguarded, because it held the private chambers of the master of the guard, and the only people who ever went into it were the guards themselves. Two sets of rough-hewn, claustrophobic stairs wound around its outside, one for going up, and one for going down.

Jaina went down, as silently as she could manage. She stopped on the bottom stair, listening carefully, then glanced around the corner.

To her left was a doorway which led, presumably, back around to the kitchen. To her right was the rest of the tower, halved by two walls, which framed a passageway to the other side. There was only one set of stairs down to the dungeon, at the other end of the passage, across the tower from her. She snuck towards it, trying not to make any noise and keeping her senses trained on the men she could feel around her. She whispered some spells to help them concentrate on whatever they were doing, keeping their attention away from her. Ideally, she would have managed without magic, and normally she would have tried, but there was no room for error this time.

She reached the stairs and hung back in a corner. Just ahead, she could see the glow of daylight falling down the few steps that led up to the guarded outer door. She listened.

"Hey!"

The voice sounded from outside and was as familiar as her own. It was male, cheerful, and sounded like the definition of friendly charm.

"Sorry to bother you, sirs," it continued. "But you haven't seen a young woman around, have you?"

One of the guards posted outside chuckled. "Seen a few, lad," he said. "Any in particular you wanted?"

"My sister. Brown hair, about this height?" A sigh. "I'm supposed to take her home, but she's gone to meet her fella. They said they'd be out any minute, but..." Jaina could almost see Jacen's sheepish shrug as he trailed off.

"Oh, you might be waiting a while, lad," the guard said, laughing.

"They were gonna ask Captain Darrick to let them through here," Jacen went on, and Jaina nodded to herself. That confirmed the name. Jacen was thorough. He continued talking, but Jaina didn't wait to hear what he said next. Time to move.

The dungeon itself was barred by a heavy door, and looking at it, she knew that it would creak. She pulled a flask of oil from a pocket and poured it over the hinges, then turned her attention to the lock and bars. The bars slid back easily; the lock needed a little persuasion from Jaina's hair pin, but it, too, gave in.

Moments later she stood before the faintly familiar gloom, and found herself face to face with a tall, dark-haired young man wearing a horrible red hat. He grinned. "Good to see you."

Jaina let him past and locked the door again, leaving the bars just short of their catches. "Come on."

They crept back up the stairs, with Jaina in the lead. Once she got to the top, she sent a distraction spell back towards the guard room, listened again, and tugged Zekk out into the hallway behind her.

She could hear Jacen ahead, telling the guards some kind of complicated joke, and picked up her pace. Zekk came up beside her, holding her hand. By the time they reached the steps, they were almost running.

"Hey!" Jacen called out as soon as they came into view behind the guards. "Finally!"

"Sorry," Jaina called back, smiling broadly and making sure to sound out of breath. "Kev was late, as usual."

They were almost at a level with the two guards now, who'd snapped to attention and were facing them. Jaina flashed them a self-deprecating smile and focused on Jacen. "Where's Father?"

"Still out by the gate," Jacen assured her.

"Hold on, Miss," one of the guards broke in. "What were you two doing back there?"

"We came through the kitchens," Jaina explained. "We were in a hurry so Captain Darrick let us through here."

"Thank you," Zekk added, grinning broadly. "Come on, honey, your father will be angry."

"Serve you right for keeping me waiting," Jaina retorted. "I thought you knew your way around here."

"I'll cover for you," Jacen assured Zekk, winking at the guard. "But let's go."

They hurried past the guards while Jacen told them goodbye and exchanged some parting quips about young love and irresponsibility with them. Jaina kept hold of Zekk's hand, and Zekk kept the smile on his face. He was no stranger to this game, either. A smile was probably the last expression that anyone would recognise him with here.

They made it past the guard house, too, Jacen waving at two of the guards and Jaina teasing Zekk about how she should have known better than to expect a hunter to be on time.

When they'd crossed the drawbridge and were making their way down the main street, Zekk let go of Jaina's hand and blew out a breath. "I can't believe that worked."

They took a few side lanes and narrower alleys, Jacen in the lead, always keeping an eye out toward the castle. "We're not out yet," Jaina reminded him. "We have to wait for Anakin. As soon as he's clear, we go, and he'll catch up with us."

"Why didn't he just come with us? Why's he in there in the first place?"

"Jacen's ticket in," Jaina said. "And we needed someone inside to get you out, remember? If I'd gone in, it would've taken too long."

"Besides, this way we get an added bonus," Jacen added, smirking as he patted his side. Jaina heard the jingle of coins.

"You got the bounty?"

"Yep." Jacen looked insufferably pleased with himself. "Ten silvers, as promised."

Jaina laughed. "Wow. Someone's going to be very annoyed later." She turned back to Zekk. "And he didn't come with us because they'd have recognised him. It was risky enough bluffing you out. It's still the same guards on duty, they've all seen him."

"So how's he getting out?"

"He waits a while until we're clear, then he lets himself out and climbs up the tower, onto the roof, down the back, and steals a horse. Then he just—"

She broke off as, back at the castle, an alarm bell began ringing.

"I think," Jacen said, his voice suddenly tense, "that the plan might be about to change."

* * *

Anakin knew that he was in trouble the moment he heard footsteps on the stairs. He bit back a curse, looking around reflexively. Either something had gone wrong with the twins, or the guards had just decided to have an unscheduled check of the dungeon.

Closing his eyes briefly, he willed the guard to either be sloppy in that check, or get suspicious enough to come in. If the man noticed the unlatched bars and just decided to slide them back into place, Anakin's job was about to get a lot harder. He still struggled with moving things he couldn't see.

The man was suspicious. It wasn't the best outcome, but it wasn't the worst either. Anakin slunk back into the shadows as the key turned in the lock, one hand gripping the knife Zekk had left him, his shackles still swinging from the other.

When the door opened, he moved immediately. His shackled hand reached up to stifle the man's startled exclamation, the other pointed the knife at his throat, and he reached for the torch with his mind and snuffed it out. Smoke rose, making his eyes water in the cramped space. He drew back his knife hand, reversed his grip, and slammed it into the side of the man's neck.

The guard went slack and Anakin lowered him to the ground, trying to be gentle, wincing at the noise.

"Idan?" a voice called from above, presumably meaning the guard.

Anakin started up the stairs, grunting. "Okay!" he called back, knowing that he had the wrong voice. Still, it might stall them for another second while they noticed that.

He reached the top of the stairs just ahead of another guard, who was coming down the passageway that led through the tower. Anakin flung himself towards the stairs across the way, bracing himself against the walls as he started up. A yell went up behind him, and booted feet clattered across stone and wood as they took up the chase.

Anakin kept going, taking the stairs as fast as he could, knowing that they couldn't catch him or shoot him here as long as he kept enough distance.

By the time he reached the second storey, the alarm bell was ringing somewhere outside, and he grimaced. So much for the plan. He'd never manage to sneak a horse out of the stables now.

He glanced out of the window. Just below him was the roof of the main hall, broken up by its three big chimneys. Further below, he could see men beginning to run across the yard, leaving their posts on the wall in order to surround the castle.

They were fast, he had to give them that.

But as he looked around the keep again, he could see his new plan.

He climbed through the narrow window and dropped onto the roof below, crouching slightly. He ran along the roof ridge, jumping onto and over the chimneys as he went. At the other end, near the corner, stood a smaller tower, open-topped. Anakin took a deep breath and ran down the roof side, leaping on the third stride. He landed easily on the almost-flat top of the tower, and looked around.

Behind him, someone was yelling, but the men were still busy taking up position by the castle exits. It was a good response to an escaped prisoner; all the doors were sealed.

But Anakin was not a normal prisoner.

He looked across at the castle wall. It was a good four to five meters away, coming almost as high as the tower, an impossible jump.

Well, almost impossible.

He clenched his fists, made sure of his footing, and called on the Force.

Then he jumped.

He almost didn't make it, his chest slamming hard into the wall and driving the breath from his lungs. But his arms and upper torso were on the wall, and he scrambled up and over the small ridge that framed the walkway on top of the keep wall. Then he ran.

They'd noticed him now and were running back to cut him off. In the corner of his eye, he could see a few archers running to position below, but he was protected by the wall beside him, and the angle worked in his favour.

He reached the corner tower before anyone made it back to the wall, and from there it was only a short stretch to the guard house. But even as he turned towards it, two guards emerged from the doorway, swords drawn and ready.

Anakin kept running. He sent an invisible shove at them just before he reached them, knocking them off-balance. Then he was on them, sending his shackles swinging into one man's face while he kicked out at the other. They went down, and he ducked through the doorway.

He could hear chains working now—they were lowering the portcullis and raising the drawbridge to lock him in. He swung himself around another set of stairs, this one wooden, and cast a glance out of a window overlooking the moat. The drawbridge was rising slowly but surely, and he heard the thunk as the portcullis slammed into place. Men were yelling below and above, armour clanging and feet thumping the floor.

Anakin muttered a curse and jumped onto the windowsill, edging out of the window even as men came charging up behind him.

"Stop, you fool!" he heard, and then the air was rushing at him again and the bridge below was rising to meet him.

He stumbled when he hit it, the angle throwing him off, but he scrambled to his feet and ran up it. When he reached the edge, he was about three meters diagonally from the other side of the moat.

A warning flashed through his mind and he ducked, avoiding an arrow that whizzed past. He straightened again, and jumped.

The landing was the easiest yet, and he was running before the two guards on bridge duty even realised that he was there. More shouts rent the air behind him, but even shouting takes time, and reacting to it takes more time, and thus it was another couple of seconds before anyone took up the chase.

By then, Anakin was gone.

* * *

The distant peal of the alarm bell drew everyone's attention towards the castle. It was quite pointless, since not even the tip of a tower could be seen from here, but since that was where the noise came from, that was where everyone looked.

Tahiri exchanged a glance with the young woman—Ella, she'd learned. "What's that about?"

Ella shook her head. "Don't worry about it. It's not coming from the walls, so we're not under attack. It's probably just a breakout."

"Just a breakout?"

Ella shrugged, a smile starting to form on her face. "It happens a lot. There was supposed to be an execution today, I think. And my aunt Martha said that someone brought in Anakin Solo earlier, too."

That name sent a tiny jolt of recognition through Tahiri, but she was sure that she'd never heard it before. A name as odd as that, she would have remembered. "Who?"

"Anakin Solo. Haven't you seen the wanted posters? They've been after him for months. But he's a Solo, so even if this isn't him," she indicated the castle and the alarm still ringing from it, "he won't be there long."

"Why?"

Ella's smile grew impish. "Because the Solos never stay imprisoned for long. Funny how that works, but y'know, if no one's seem 'em, no one's seen 'em."

Tahiri stopped herself from asking more questions. She was astute enough to know that Lord Threkim Horm wasn't the most popular man, and with good reason, as far as she could tell. She'd never heard of the Solos, but she knew how the world worked. No one liked thieves, in principle, but in practice it was always negotiable. And far away from courts and castles and the rules of chivalry, people had their own codes of honour. You didn't betray someone who'd helped you.

"Excuse me! Hey!"

Tahiri and Ella turned. A brawny young man in a guard's uniform was running along the street, waving a parchment at them. He came to a stop, breathing hard. "Have you seen this man?"

Tahiri looked at the poster he held out, not very steadily. It showed an ink sketch of a young man with dark hair, glowering broodily and looking dangerous. The name "Anakin Solo" was printed beneath, along with ten symbols denoting silver coins.

"Oh, sure," Ella said. "My aunt saw him earlier, being hauled up to the castle."

"Funny," the guard growled. "I mean have you seen him since the alarm started ringing."

"No. But if there's a criminal on the loose around here, I'm going back inside." Ella bent to pick up her bucket. "Thanks for your help, Tahiri."

Tahiri smiled. "No problem."

"Tahiri!" Callista's voice rang out. She stood by the carriage, looking across at Tahiri with her arms on her hips, the Rar twins beside her. "I told you to wait right here!"

"Sorry, Mother!" Tahiri called back. "This gentleman wanted to talk to me."

"Excuse me, milady," the guard spoke up, starting across the street. "I'm Norys, with the Castle Guard. Have you seen this man? Anakin Solo?"

Callista glanced at the piece of parchment. "I'm afraid not."

Alema leaned forward. "Oooh, he's a handsome one!"

At that, Numa joined her, both of them studying the sketch the guard was holding out. "Oooh! What age is he?"

"Is he tall?" Alema asked.

Tahiri resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was difficult.

The guard turned to her. "How about you, miss? Sure you haven't seen him?"

"Never in my life," Tahiri said. "Sorry."

"All right, well, thank you, and excuse me," the guard said. "I need to get going." He continued down the street at a run.

"What was that all about?" Callista asked. "And what is going on with that alarm?"

"They had a breakout up at the castle," Tahiri said, since the guard's questions had all but confirmed that. "Some kind of petty thief."

"Ooooh," Alema said, drawing the sound out even further this time. "A bad boy."

Callista gave her a stern look. "We are leaving. Come along, girls."

She climbed into the carriage. Her upper body had just disappeared into it when Tahiri caught a flash of movement in the corner of her eye, and then things happened very fast.

A young man shot around the corner and towards her. He barged past Numa and Alema without stopping and reached Tahiri in a rush of cold air and excitement. He flung out both arms and caught her by the shoulders, steadying them both as she staggered backwards a step.

"Sorry," he panted, and Tahiri recognised him from the sketch she'd seen not two minutes ago.

In reality, he looked far less dangerous, and a lot more handsome. His eyes met hers, the brightest blue she'd ever seen, and for a brief moment he just stared at her. His throat worked with more than just the effort to breathe, but no words made it out.

None of this would have bothered her, normally. No, what wiped the words from her own throat was the fact that she could sense him, his presence, like a beacon straight in front of her.

And, like an echo, something rose up inside her and reached back.

Tahiri snatched the something back before who knew what could happen, and frowned at Anakin. "Hey, what do you think—"

"Gotta go." His voice was deep and slurred the words together hurriedly as he stepped around her.

Without even meaning to, she moved out of his way, and he climbed past her onto the driver's seat. From there, he clambered onto the carriage, ran along it, and Tahiri pushed away just in time to watch him leap across onto the nearest roof. He landed smoothly and disappeared from view with another leap.

Time returned to its regular speed, and Tahiri remembered the rest of the world.

Alema and Numa were just getting back to their feet, yelling shrill curses. They'd both fallen when Anakin had barrelled into them, landing in the filth of the street. Callista had managed to turn herself around and now poked her head out of the carriage, demanding to know what was going on.

"Stupid kriffing gutter rat!" Alema yelled in the direction where Anakin had disappeared. Her dress was stained, as was Numa's. The bags with the twins' ball gowns had fallen to the ground, too, and Tahiri hurried to pick them up before the mud on the street could soak through and give her more work to do. The movement also gave her an excuse to turn away from the others, the better to hide the laughter that kept trying to well up.

"Don't worry," she said. "It'll wash out. Come on, get into the carriage and we'll go home, and you can show off your new dresses."

For a miracle, her cajoling worked. The twins climbed into the carriage, still cursing the "gutter rat" and recounting the events to Callista, and Tahiri fled to the safety of the driver's seat and got them moving towards the gate.

The guards insisted on searching the carriage, but between the girls' cursing and the lack of male occupants, they didn't keep them waiting for long. As soon as she was out of Hormford and on the road back to Yavin, Tahiri collapsed into mostly silent laughter. Of all the girls to knock into the mud, Anakin Solo had chosen his targets well.

Of course, she would be the one to wash their dresses, but she could forgive him that. It had been worth it.

And he'd stopped for her. He'd knocked Alema and Numa over, but he'd stopped for _her_. He'd apologised to _her_. That was a first. Usually, any young man she saw was too busy staring at the twins to even notice her.

She hoped rather fervently that Alema and Numa had been too busy falling over to see that. She hoped even more that they hadn't caught onto... whatever had passed between her and Anakin.

If they had, they were either going to accuse her of being in cahoots with the lad, or they would get jealous and spend the next month making speculative remarks that were guaranteed to make her blush even when she didn't know exactly what they meant.

She wasn't sure which would be worse. But right now, with the memory of Alema and Numa cursing on the ground and Anakin Solo's bewildering presence hovering in her mind, Tahiri found that she didn't care enough to worry about it just yet.

Jaina watched the distant figure jump from the drawbridge and disappear into the town, and blew out a breath.

"Well," she said. "Guess they'll be locking up the town now. Better go."

Beside her, Zekk and Jacen stirred. "Uh, yeah," Zekk said. "Jace?"

Jacen was already looking around, thinking. "Yeah. All right, come on. Same story as before. I'm Lars, they'll remember me from when I brought Anakin in. They should let us out."

Jaina seized Zekk's hand again. "Let's go."

They made it to the town gate without further incident, except for Jacen stopping to wave at two women he seemed to know. They found the guards on edge, glancing towards the castle and exchanging muttered remarks, hands lingering near their sword hilts.

"Hey," Jacen called out as they drew closer, smiling cheerfully again.

"Whoah, hold up. No one leaves," one of the guards said.

Jacen drew up short, looking confused. "What? Why?"

"Something going on at the castle," the guard said.

"You mean the escaped prisoner?" Jacen asked.

The guard's eyes narrowed. "What do you know about that?"

"Heard people talking about it," Jacen said. "But why can't I leave? You know it's not me. You saw me come in less than an hour ago!"

The guard gestured towards Jaina and Zekk. "And who're these two?"

"Oh, this is my sister!" Jacen put a hand on Jaina's shoulder. "This is Lienna. And her husband Kev."

"Uh-huh. And you just happened to meet them here?"

"'course not, I knew they'd be here." Jacen raised his eyebrows expectantly. "I told the other guy—Derek, wasn't it? – that when I came in earlier. Said I'd try to find my sister and this good-for-nothing husband of hers."

"Hey!" Jaina slugged him on the arm. "Will you stop being so mean?"

"Can't let you leave," the guard insisted. "Orders. Sorry."

"Oh, okay, sure." Jacen nodded, an understanding smile on his face. "But could you tell me when to come back? We kinda have to get back to Pleauvin today. I promised Mother that I'd get Lienna back safely, and she'll worry."

"Oh, let him go, will you?" another guard, younger, spoke up. "He brought in a criminal earlier. Hardly likely that he'd bother if he's gonna help him escape again, is it? 'sides, this ain't Anakin Solo."

"Could be another," the first guard returned.

Jacen was nodding again. "You're right. It's better not to trust anyone in cases like this. 'least this way you make sure the guy's caught soon." He turned to Jaina. "Don't worry, we'll get home in time."

Jaina looked doubtful. "Are you sure? Mom will be worried sick if we don't, you know."

"I'll run ahead this evening if I have to," Zekk spoke up. "Might be able to borrow a horse from my uncle. Don't worry."

Jaina squeezed his hand.

The guard blew out a breath. "Oh, fine, go on." He smiled at Jaina. "Don't want your mother worrying, huh? Go on, just keep it quiet."

Jaina and Jacen gave him identical looks of surprised delight. "Thank you," Jaina said, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial murmur. "Thanks very much."

Jacen echoed her sentiments, and they hurried out through the gate, while behind them the alarm continued to ring.

When it was barely audible anymore, Jaina tugged at Zekk's hand. "Now will you admit that this plan was genius?"

Zekk was shaking his head. "I can't _believe_ that worked."

Anakin was waiting for them a little further along, leaning back against a tree, squinting lazily into the sunny sky. He pushed to his feet, a smirk on his face. "Took you long enough."

"We got held up at the gate," Jacen said.

"What did you _do_?" Jaina demanded.

Anakin held up both arms. "Hey, it wasn't my fault. You guys made the guards suspicious. They raised the alarm, so I had to change the plan."

"That why you came flying over the drawbridge like that?" Jaina asked.

Her little brother winced. "Might be better not to tell Mom about that."

"We won't have to." Jacen grinned. "By this evening, everyone's gonna be talking about how you flew out of Horm's castle and killed half the guards by throwing their arrows back at them."

"Oh, not that again." Anakin glowered off into the distance. "Don't they know that that would never work?"

"That's never stopped anyone from telling a good story." Jacen patted him on the back. "Count on it, little brother. It's only going to get worse."

Anakin grimaced. "Don't be such an optimist. Did you at least get the money?"

Jacen patted his pocket again. "Yep. Paid me in full. You should probably call into town on the way and pay off Bombaasa's man."

"Sooner the better," Jaina agreed.

Zekk's eyes widened. "Wait, I thought Bombaasa's the reason there's a price on your head to begin with. He reported the whole thing to Horm and got the bounty put up, didn't he?"

Jacen extracted the coins from his jacket and handed them over to Anakin. "Yep. And I collected it. It's up to me what I do with it now, isn't it?"

"I don't believe it."

Jacen shrugged, almost bursting with mischievous delight. "Why not? This way, everyone's happy. Bombaasa gets his money, Anakin can stop worrying about the real price on his head, and we all get to laugh at Horm."

"Fair point." Zekk grinned, shaking his head. "That was one hell of a stunt. And here I thought you were just concerned about me."

"I was," Jaina said, hugging him. Before her brothers could comment, she went on, "You still owe me money from the last sabbacc game."

Zekk shot her a betrayed look, and she laughed and started walking homewards. It was good to have everyone together again.


End file.
